


A Fig's Wit

by CaptainLeBubbles



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 08:33:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/684943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainLeBubbles/pseuds/CaptainLeBubbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've always driven him mad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fig's Wit

**Author's Note:**

> This work uses characterizations from the vowel family rp on Tumblr (I play the twins).

"Fiiiiiigwiiiiiiiit~"

Lindir sighs and presses a hand to his temple. Elladan- or Elrohir; he can't really tell the two apart- decides that he is not being answered quickly enough and grabs Lindir's sleeve, tugging on it enough to stretch it out. He takes a deep breath before looking down on his lord's two young sons with a forced smile.

"Yes, boys?" 

He never addresses them by name if he can help it; last time he tried he got the wrong one and the boy had cried for hours. Lord Elrond had been no help at all, telling him that it should be perfectly obvious which twin was which. Lindir had wisely not pointed out that as their father, of course it would be obvious to him.

Elladan- or Elrohir- grins toothily up at him (one of his top teeth is missing, and Lindir knows his twin is missing the same tooth on the opposite side, which means this must actually be Elrohir, and as long as he doesn't look away he'll be fine- for the moment) and tugs his sleeve once more for good measure. The other boy is behind him, clutching a bundle of linens nearly as big as he is and also grinning. Lindir suppresses a sigh- this probably won't go well for him.

"We want to make a blanket fort," Elrohir says, while Elladan wiggles the pile of linens as proof. "Come help us."

Lindir is not a nanny or a nursemaid, and there are plenty of other Elves in Imladris who are more than willing to indulge the twins' whims (overindulge them, really, but it's not Lindir's place to tell Lord Elrond that he's spoiling his children), so he carefully extracts his sleeve from Elrohir's grip and smiles down at him.

"I'm sorry, boys, but I have duties to attend. Perhaps another time."

"No, now!" Elrohir says, while Elladan wobbles under his bundle. Elrohir grabs his hand again. "Father said you have to play with us."

Which is only true in the sense that yes, Elrond had once told Lindir to occupy the boys for a few hours, but it had not been a standing order. Not that this matters to the twins. Lindir has long been an object for their own personal amusement, and all of his protests fall on perfectly matched deaf ears. The only way to go is to indulge them and hope they lose interest soon.

"Very well then," he says, doing his best to keep the sigh out of his voice. He isn't paid enough for this.

Immediately the bundle of linens is thrust into his arms. The twins clasp hands and amble off down the pathway, not bothering to make sure Lindir is following (and why should they? They're not in the habit of being refused, after all). He shuffles on after them, doing his best not to drop the bundle in his arms.

The boys lead him from the house and down the river to a small bank. The spot is a particular favorite of theirs, and they often come here to play. He stands at the edge of the area with his armful of linens and it hits him that this is where they intend to build their blanket fort, and it strikes him as a very bad idea.

"Children," he says, clearing his throat to gain their attention. They're plotting out their fort, or at least he thinks that's what they're doing. They're communicating through gestures and expressions; the twins had learned almost as early as infancy how to speak to each other without truly speaking and this often leaves people like Lindir fumbling, unaware of everything going on. When they ignore him, he clears his throat again, much more loudly. "Boys!"

They halt their silent communication and both turn identical questioning looks to him.

"Blanket forts are an indoor activity," he says. "It's not good to bring your father's clean linens out into the woods, to get them covered in mud and dirt and what else." Especially since I'll be the one to wash them, he adds silently. 

They stare at him for several seconds, then turn back to each other and hold another silent conversation. The one on the left- their mouths are firmly shut, so no way of knowing which now- comes over to Lindir and takes the bundle of linens without a trace of a smile. He sets them down on the ground and begins pawing through them in search of the big one, the biggest one that will serve as the mainstay of their fort, ignoring Lindir's protests to do this.

Their main purpose for bringing him along was to reach the higher branches, and they keep him busy for over an hour hanging and rehanging the linens until the twins are satisfied with their work. Once they feel the fort is complete, they lead him inside, and it really is a nice fort, though he suspects Lord Elrond is going to be annoyed by the state of the linens being used as their floor.

They play for hours. The fort becomes a cave and they explore it, then it becomes a castle and they rule it, and a ship and they sail it, and all other manner of things they can think of. Lindir also becomes whatever they want him to be; he is little more than an object to them, a prop for their amusement.

The fort has become the lair of a dragon, with Lindir playing the role of dragon, and the twins brandish sticks as swords to slay him. He dodges them as best he can, while they dart forward and tap him with their "swords"- very gently, so he almost can't even feel it; he supposes even they won't risk their father's wrath if they hurt someone- and after awhile he decides that he's been hit enough times to be thoroughly slain. He clutches at his chest and collapses dramatically, managing a line about the cruelty of life before lying motionless in the mud (Lindir has long since learned that one does not complain about mud in the twins' presence; they love to play in it and will take personal offense if someone else doesn't) while they congratulate themselves on slaying the dragon.

He lies there like a forgotten toy while the twins tire of dragons and treasure and spar with their "swords" before eventually discarding these as well and simply wrestling. One of them manages to pin his brother and is sitting on him when they hear approaching footsteps, and Lord Elrond enters the scene.

Only Lord Elrond can look so dignified in such a muddy environment. The boys are delighted to see him; they leap up and run to him, hugging either leg and chattering up at him about how much fun they've been having and all that they've done today. Lord Elrond, for his part, smiles indulgently and puts an arm around each, before finally spotting Lindir lying in the mud, and the blanket fort they've made of his linens. A muscle twitches in his jaw, and Lindir can't blame him, because they're stained, sodden, and even torn in a few places.

"Was it necessary to sacrifice the linens for your play, my sons?"

They exchange bewildered looks, as though it had never even occurred to them that he might object (despite Lindir's many warnings). Lord Elrond sighs.

"Very well, we will discuss this later. Lindir, please gather the linens. You boys will need to bathe before supper."

Lindir pulls himself out of the mud (no no, he's fine, don't anyone offer to help or anything) and sets to work taking down the blanket fort. Once he has the entire bundle in his arms they all set off back to the house, the boys still chattering happily to their father while Lindir staggers after them with the linens.

(o/o/o)

It was Lady Celebrian who first commented that he had a fig's wit (and what did that even mean?), but it was the boy's who gave him the name. Since he can't be angry at her (he knows; he's tried) he settles for being annoyed with the twins instead.

He's been composing this new ballad for weeks now, and he thinks it might be almost complete. He's spent the morning going over every line, every note, ensuring that it is just right, and he means to play it at the feast tonight- Imladris is playing host to some very important guests right now, up to and including Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, and he wants to impress them.

Speaking of whom, the door to the study bursts open at right that moment, and he doesn't have to look to know who it is coming in because who else would be so raucous? He schools the annoyance from his face- years of practice- and turns to greet them. In an instant, his heart stops, because the twins are not alone; coming in with much more dignity is their mother, alongside her mother, Lady Galadriel herself. He stifles a squeak of fright, then remembers that she can read minds and tries his hardest not to think about what nuisances her grandsons are.

A small smile twitches at the corner of her mouth and he realizes he's just done exactly that.

One of the twins- they've got all their teeth now, so he has no way of telling them apart- climbs up onto the table and picks up the ballad Lindir has been working on. He reads through it, humming the notes very quietly, while his twin scrambles up next to him to read over his shoulder.

"Did you write this, Figwit?" he asks. Lindir bites back a retort about the name, and nods. The first twin breaks off humming and points. "What's the splotchy bit supposed to be?"

"That's- that's spilled ink," he says. There's actually quite a lot of ink stains on the paper, because he has a habit of tapping his pen on the page while he thinks. He realizes Lady Celebrian and Lady Galadriel have come over to look as well, and his face colors in embarrassment. How sloppy he must look to them! Without quite realizing it, he grabs the page from the boy and holds it close to him. They all stare in shock, and his face colors even more. "It's, erm, it's not done," he mutters.

"Then we will leave you to finish it," Lady Galadriel says. She inclines her head to him slightly, and gives her grandsons a meaningful look. The boys hop from the table and grab her hands, pulling her from the room.

"Come, Grandmother!"  
"We haven't even shown you the library yet!"

Lady Celebrian remains behind, an amused smile twitching at her lips. She places a hand on his shoulder and gives it a comforting squeeze.

"It's a very lovely ballad," she says. "I look forward to hearing it."

And with that she follows behind her mother and sons, leaving Lindir to slump down in his chair in embarrassment and shame.

(o/o/o)

Lindir swears the only reason the twins love getting muddy so much is that it means they get to bathe twice as often as they normally would. Not that he can blame them there, because hot baths must have been invented by the Valar themselves, but it's not so nice when the boys' parents are too busy to monitor them and so the task falls to Lindir instead.

The boys are behaving themselves at the moment; one is washing the other's hair while the other plays with a pair of wooden boats that have been given to them, but Lindir has enough bathtime experience to know that this will not last long.

No sooner has he thought this than the former twin manages to get soap into the latter's eyes. The latter starts whining immediately, flailing and splashing in an attempt to remove the offending suds while his brother chants apologies and splashes him in vain. Lindir sighs and grabs a damp cloth, grabbing the injured twin and wiping gently at his eyes until the soap has been removed. His eyes are still red, though, and he slumps, pouting, his twin hugs him close, petting him and whispering soothing words to him.

The boy is soon calmed, and Lindir sighs in relief and prepares to retreat. He halts when he feels two pairs of arms wrap around his legs, and then he's being pulled backward to land in the water with an almighty splash that sends water sloshing over the side of the tub. He sits up, spitting soapy water and sodden from head to toe, to find the twins grinning broadly at him. He sputters angrily.

"What was that for?"

"You're not supposed to be outside the tub."  
"You have to be in the water with us."  
"Come play with us."  
"Father always plays with us."

"That's because he is your father. I am merely here to ensure that you do not cause too big a mess, or drown."

"We won't drown."  
"Come on, Figwit, play with us."

They look at him with large, pleading eyes, and he sighs. If he refuses, they'll cry, and possibly tell their father, and Lord Elrond might feel that he is neglecting his duties. He nods, and they beam, and they look so happy that he can almost forget that his role in their play will probably be some enemy to be vanquished.

They remind him almost immediately, though, grabbing a carved wooden sea serpent from the shelf beside the tub and shoving it into his hands.

"Here, Figwit!"  
"You can be the dragon that attacks the ships bound for Valinor."

(o/o/o)

Getting the twins to go to bed is a trial, and Lindir suspects that this is the reason that Lord Elrond delegates the task to him as often as possible. They don't like to go to bed, as they seem convinced that once they fall asleep everything interesting will happen and they will miss it. It wouldn't even be so much trouble if not that there were two of them- once he gets one settled into the bed, the other has crawled out and he must chase him down. He would need three more Lindir's to be able to keep up with them but he's only one Elf.

Eventually, though, he does manage to get them settled. One of them crawls to the edge of the bed and slips to the floor, but he's not trying to escape, and a moment later he climbs back up with a book tucked under his arm, which he hands to Lindir expectantly.

"Read us a story, Figwit," he orders, while his twin chimes in with, "The one about the faceless boy!"

Lindir looks down at the book and shudders. It's filled with scary stories and scarier illustrations, and he knows if he reads any of them he'll have nightmares for weeks.

"I'm not sure this is the right material for you boys right before you sleep. Wouldn't you like to hear a nicer story instead?"

"It is a nice story."  
"It's about a boy with no face."  
"He had a face-"  
"-but it got eaten off by Wargs-"  
"-only he survived-"  
"-because logic-"  
"-and went around scaring people with his facelessness-"  
"-until one day he found a boy with two faces-"  
"-because, again, logic-"  
"-and decided that he would steal one of them-"  
"-only he got jealous and took both-"  
"-and then they fought over the faces-"  
"-until they fell off of a cliff-"  
"-and died."  
"It's our favorite story."

Lindir shudders again, even harder. It sounds horrifying, and just the brief summary will rob him of a few nights' sleep, he just knows. He sets the book aside and goes over to the boys' bookshelf, taking down a different book.

"I'm not sure your father would appreciate me reading such a scary story to you right before you sleep," he says, hoping they accept the excuse without too much question. "How would you like to hear this one instead? It's about a wolf who falls in love with a rabbit, but the rabbit initially rejects him because he's worried the wolf is trying to trick him. So the wolf has to prove his love to the rabbit by wooing him properly, only he doesn't know how to woo rabbits. It's one of my favorites."

"Sounds boring."  
"Read something else."

Still, he manages to persuade them to listen to the story, and they settle back into the covers and wait expectantly until he starts reading.

The story is a bit silly, of course; who ever heard of a wolf being in love with a rabbit? Still, it really is one of his favorites and he gets so engrossed that it takes him awhile to realize that the twins have long since fallen asleep. They've curled around each other, limbs tangled and hair splayed everywhere, and like this, it's easy to forget what terrors they normally are.

He sets the book aside and is about to stand when a small hand closes on his sleeve. He glances over, wondering what they've got in store for him now, but the hand lets go almost immediately and drifts back to rest on his twin's side.

"Good night, Figwit," the boy says sleepily against his brother's skin, shuffling a little until his face is almost completely tucked into the other's neck. "Thank you for reading to us."

Lindir hesitates, then reaches over to brush an errant lock of hair from the boy's face with a sigh. "Good night, boys. Sleep well."


End file.
